


Moons and Mischief

by tired_ghost_180



Series: Moons and mischief [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always a Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Background Relationships, Everyone Is Alive, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Pack - Freeform, The nogitsune is a fox, Void Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tired_ghost_180/pseuds/tired_ghost_180
Summary: It should have been over. It had been over. The nogitsune had taken so much, too much. But they had gotten rid of it. They wouldn't have to worry about trickster foxes anymore. It was over.Except Stiles still ran his fingers along the closest solid surface every time his thoughts were too loud in his head.“Yeah, so you got out of the box but that doesn't explain how you're in my head. I closed the door and don't try to lie to me because I know I did. Deaton cleared me and everything.”It laughed, dark and sinister.Oh Stiles, don't you know it crooned. The door doesn't need to be open if you already have the key.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Moons and mischief [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925815
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	1. Acquiesce

**Author's Note:**

> Check ending notes for trigger warnings

It should have been over.

It had been over. The nogitsune had taken so much, too much. But they had gotten rid of it. They had forced it out of its clone body, the spirit fleeing into that of a fly’s. It had been trapped in the box carved straight from the Nemeton's flesh and put where no one would ever find it again. They wouldn't have to worry about trickster foxes anymore. It was over.

Except Stiles still ran his fingers along the closest solid surface every time his thoughts were too loud in his head. It wasn't much, just the  _ tap tap tap _ as the digits connected, starting at his pinky and following all the way through to his thumb before he began the pattern again. When his father had run through final casualties, all of the deputies that had lost their lives fighting the void his fingers had tap tap taped along his leg. When their ragtag pack had waited anxiously in Allison’s hospital room awaiting the doctor's verdict he had stayed outside, nails clicking as they trailed up and down the plastic chair rest. When he thought back on all that had happened over the past weeks the same mannerism would wiggle its way to the surface, never failing to appear yet always staying ambiguous to Stiles until someone pointed it out.

The others didn't think anything of it, after all, Stiles did have ADHD and it was normal for him to exhibit such behaviors. He had bounced his leg when he was nervous for years among other things. But despite his habitual tics, he had  _ never _ tapped his fingers. Squeezed his hands, rub his knuckles- yes, but never tapping his fingers. That had only ever happened when they were there. 

They did it first. When Stiles, Scott, and Kira had taken shelter in a veterinary. When they first decided to take stile’s body for a spin. They had run his fingers along the cold metal table and from there, he had started to as well. Even when the spirit had not been driving his body he had done it because their presence had always been at the back of his mind. Deaton had injected him with lichen, the kind that poisoned them and as he was told that the plant was only a temporary solution there was tapping once again against his thigh. He listened but it wasn't like it was anything he didn't already know. He still tapped his fingers. The nogitsune was still there.

Like stitches in the back of his mind if he moved too much they would pull and in his the more he thought about the fox the stronger his presence, the looser the stitches. 

It had taken only a week after the fox had been trapped in the triskele engraved box for the tapping to start. Stiles had been at his wall taking down the information surrounding the nogitsune because it was  _ over _ . Normally he would leave solved cases upon the crime wall, pictures, and newspaper clipping connected in green to show his success. But he didn't want to look at the old wrinkled photo of the Eichen house or the highlighted route on the cross country trail. The mere sight of them made him sick to his stomach.

When he reached the last photo, pulling out the thumbtack and looking down at it he stilled. It was something he had printed off of his computer where he had begun rewriting the bestiary from what Lydia had translated. Typed out were the characteristics of a dark fox spirit. Cunning, intelligent, a trickster, and a few others. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to think back, back to before everything had gone to shit. He had always liked playing jokes, right? They were never the skewer your lacrosse coach with an arrow kind but they were still jokes, pranks. He liked to see how flustered people would get if they would laugh or shout. That was just Stiles. 

But the more he thought about the fewer instances he could remember. He played jokes but they were humorous, not malicious. They were gluing scissors together, hiding keys, loosening the leg of a daikon radish cart so that it would collapse and send the seller into a rage at whoever touched it last. He remembered doing that but Stiles had never had a diakon radish in his entire fucking life.

He rested his palm against the wall, trying to take in steady breath even though he could hear them quivering. This was the worst part he realized as he tried to stop his oncoming panic. He didn't know what parts of him were  _ him _ and not  _ them _ anymore. Who was stiles, who was the nogitsune? He couldn't breathe. What other things had he picked up from the spirit? What would come of it? Would he hurt people again? Had fox left enough of an imprint for that? Would he begin craving pain? Would he ki-

A paper fell.

Everything stilled. It was a random paper but that's not what stopped his wheezing. A clump of white was still pinned under the tack and below it was his hand, frozen with some fingers up and down. He had heard something, but what? That was a stupid question because he knew and he was being skeptic out of denial.

Slowly he placed the remaining fingers against the wall. Tap tap. He lifted them all one by one and that sound that he had subconsciously heard was back and at the front of his mind.

It took him an hour to come down from his panic attack.

*

He didn't tell the others. The last time he had told them, ran to Scott insisting something was wrong and spread the word to the rest of them. That was his first mistake because it had made Hans-  _ them _ feel threatened. They realized that with the rest of Stiles's pack knowing the werewolves would find a way to kill them. At first, they had thought there would be more time but poor paranoid Stiles thought that he was hurting people. By letting the others know they had to speed up the plan, forcing the boy into situations where he had no choice but to let them in. 

Of course the first few times he had managed to evade them but eventually he caved. They told him that if there was more time the transition wouldn't have been so shocking, abrupt. 

Stiles didn't care about their master plan or how they toyed with him but he had listened and he did gain something from the conversion. Others knew and they had to act. This time he decided to do the opposite. They weren't fully back yet but he knew that they would be. He had tapped his fingers, they weren't gone.

But this time he would do it right because this time he was ready. Before he had been scared. He had watched his mother die, seen Gerard Argent kill people, remembered what Isaac was like when he thought Boyd and Erica were gone. That was the part that had scared him the most. His father broken, alone from the departure of both his wife and son. He couldn't do that to his dad then. 

Now, knowing what had happened changed his mind. He still loved his dad and his friends but in comparison to all of those who were killed he knew they would be able to lose him. If he began to be more fox than human he was ready to end them. Both he and Hansei.

*

It was almost two months later when they first spoke to him again.

_ Stiles _ they seethed in that dreaded raspy voice.

Stiles’s pencil stopped taking notes, the calculus teacher continuing on as if nothing had happened. Technically that was true, no one else would be able to hear the voice in his head and he planned to keep it that way. They had told him that they should've had more time before, more time to control his body. As long as he kept them stalled Stiles would be able to make it through the day and go home to prepare the necessary measures. For now, all he could do was keep them busy, keep them talking. They loved to talk.

Picking up his utensil and looking back up to the front of the classroom he resumed his notes. Under his breath, hard for even a werewolf to hear he whispered a strained, “What.”

_ You tried to get rid of us. _

“Yeah I wonder why it’s not like you're a murdering parasite who almost killed everyone I care about,” he said.

_ Don’t you want to know how we're still here? _

“What I  _ want _ to know is when you're sorry ass is planning on leaving me alone.”

_ Silly stiles were not leaving. _

“I never get that lucky,” he cursed. “But you are gonna be gone soon and it’s not like you have a 

choice in the matter.”

_ And how would you do that? _

Shit.

“The box was supposed to keep you away,” he said to change the topic. He could feel the spirits smugness at how he knew Stiles was curious, switching subjects without hesitation.

_ We were asleep. You and yours woke us up with your sacrifice. The Nemeton would have never been able to hold us if we were awake and you thought your punny little box would? _

Fear and uncertainty began to rise within him but he couldn't focus on that now. He needed to keep them talking, keep them distracted until he got home.

“Yeah, so you got out of the box but that doesn't explain how you're in my head. I closed the door and don't try to lie to me because I know I did. Deaton cleared me and everything.”

It laughed, dark and sinister.

_ Oh Stiles, don't you know  _ it crooned.  _ The door doesn't need to be open if you already have the key. _

He dropped the pencil. They had a  _ key _ ? A key to him, to his mind? What did that mean? What could they do?

_ Stiles. _

_ STILES! _

“Stiles!” Ms.Garcia called out.

“Yeah Ms.G?” he answered, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“Can you come up and solve the problem on the board?”

“Uh, yeah sure thing,” he breathed, standing up. He walked over to the whiteboard and grabbed the maker. It squeaked as he worked through the equation, hand trembling no matter how much he forced it to still. The teacher made no comment as he walked back to his seat, the writing on the board so shaky it was nearly illegible.


	2. Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end for notes and trigger warnings.

The rest of third period had continued without any interruption besides the constant jittering of Stiles's hands. When the bell rang he went straight to his next class, taking the long way to avoid crossing paths with any werewolves who would be able to smell his anxiety a mile away. Pulling out an avenger clad phone with a crack right down the center of the screen he sent his best friend a text saying he needed to make up the work he missed from an angsty satyr they chased down last week. That along with the work he was still finishing from his time as a fox was a probable enough reason to be busy the rest of the day. Or so he hoped. The last thing he needed was the others finding out and forcing the spirit into overdrive again.

Should he go to his house now? It could just be waiting for the right time to take over in the school. The longer he stayed the more he was putting everyone in Beacon hills high at risk. Stiles considered it for a moment before remembering what he had just told Scott. He couldn't catch up on lessons and retake tests at home. If he left now, directly contradicting what he just said it would be suspicious. Scott might not catch onto it but Lydia or Allison surely would.

Allison. The thought of the young hunter made his heart clench. She had only been released from the hospital a couple of days ago, limited to half of her class, and needing to use a crutch when walking. The memory of the oni stabbing her, dark blade just shy of causing an irreversible amount of damage was still fresh in his mind. While he had been elsewhere the command had come for his mouth . . . their mouth. It was strange because they should have been separated, Stiles and the Nogitsune. Yet even before the voice had resurfaced parts of the fox had been connected to him.

The bell rang, shrill, and a welcomed distraction to his jumbled thoughts. As students began filling in and the teacher pulled down the projector screen he came to his conclusion. He couldn't leave now, he had already told Scott he would be stuck in a classroom making up assignments. The boy shared the period with a very blond and very snarky werewolf kanima hybrid or whatever Jackson was nowadays. Lydia, not that he was a stalker, always talked with Jackson outside the art room before class started. He obviously found this out in a not creepy way just to be clear. When being an admirer of the great Lydia martin knowing things like that came with the territory. 

Trying to get his train of thought back on track he recalled how Scott had taken to conversing with his packmates during the passing period as well. Scott knew and had no doubt told Jackson where Lydia would invariably find out as well. Sighenty fuming at burning his own bridge he listened in half-heartedly as some video was rolling on the screen. 

It would be okay, he just had to get through the rest of the day with no running into his supernatural friends. Or the Hale pack who were now technically part of the Mcall pack seeing as Scott was the only Alpha in the territory. He wondered what Derek thought of that as the clock counted down the hours.

Class ended sometime later and with the teacher's permission stiles slumped in his seat taking out a book on Celtic lore to pass the time. In the spare times, he's spent up at ungodly hours riding out his anxiety the boy managed to complete all that he had missed. The methodical writing and reading had distracted his mind from the separate sentient one that was somewhere in the depths of his. 

After he had finished the work at ass o’clock in the morning Stiles had just given up fighting between wakefulness and sleep, trudging downstairs to pop a few melatonin pills. His prescription was only supposed to be one, a green tab that he had taken hours ago but seeing as that pill did nothing a few more wouldn't hurt. He'd have a headache tomorrow at best, might as well add it to the pile.

Pushing the thick book onto his desk he flipped through the crusting pages, stopping briefly over the banshee section so the scraps of parchment he had stuffed into the binding wouldn't fall out. He had used the book in an attempt to find out more about Lydia's powers, the current scribbles held between the pages only talking about key points and discoveries. The rest of his extensive research was split between his laptop and notebook. That is ignoring the random sheets of supernatural facts and lore scattered around his room, jeep, and even his house.

While the Beastiarry did have a wide array of knowledge the amount of information crammed between the worn leather only allowed for so much detail on each creature. For really finding out every scrap of recording on a specific species you had to look into its origin. Stiles had been tackling supernaturals by culture only jumping around if something came up like the Kelpie he had heard Isaac talking about.

He had assumed the sighting must have been somewhere on the preserve because there weren't many bodies of water in Beacon hills. If anyone started getting to close to the waterside they might just get dragged in and drowned to death and considering how big the lake was a few people were bound to wander by. Considering the water spirit a rather important matter Stiles had switched from his Latinx lore records over to the European one he still had from Deaton.

Finally passing the banshee section without moving too many of his notes he kept turning pages until he reached the aforementioned spirit. From there he kept reading, pausing after a few minutes to pull out his lunch. The teacher, Mr.Gray hummed along to the soft jazz music playing through his computer lulling Stiles into a pattern of reading, write, and recite. Soon lunch was almost over and he packed his things calling out thanks to the man still humming along as he walked out the door. There was still a few minutes before the fifth period started but Stiles didn't want to take the chance of getting caught by his friends.

He continued the pattern for his last classes, arriving early and leaving in a rush. He thanked whatever gods were out there that the only classes he shared with the others were first and second.

The time flew by as he tried to ignore the storm brewing in his mind. The clock hands ticked by and before he knew it Stiles was sprint out of the corridors and towards his jeep. Slamming into the door and fumbling with the keys he hopped in. The boy got there so fast that there weren't even any other cars pulling out to block him as the vehicle sped away from the school.

Lights changed and he flicked his blinkers while attempted deep breaths were drawn to counteract his panic. The fox wouldn't take over now, would it? While he was driving? 

He didn't like the answer but it would be okay. The spirit could possess his body but it had never been able to read his mind. There was no way it could know that the second he got home Stiles would be rolling out everything he had to get rid of it. That single thought kept him sane enough to focus on the road.

When his house appeared before him Stiles jumped out, running straight for the door. He took the stairs three at a time, hand clinging to the banister for balance. After nearly wrenching his door handle off he threw the school bag on the floor and slammed it behind him.  
After knocking over books and bobbles he finally wrapped his hands around the small corked bottle. Yanking the cap off he flipped it over, dumping out all of the mountain ash inside.

It hit the floor and instantly snapped into place, connecting with the trail he had laid around the entire perimeter of his room. Breathing heavily, the bottle dropped from his grip, clinking against the hardwood. Stiles staggered back and ran his hands through his hair.  
“Calm down, calm down Stiles,” he told himself.

He had erected the barrier and now the only way he could leave the room is if he was himself. The very day the fox had spoken to him again he'd used all of the mountain ash he could to surround his room. Both a precaution and a necessity. After a few minutes of coming down from his adrenaline high, he dropped his hands from where they had been buried in disheveled hair. Turning around he headed for his bookshelf.

Pushing aside a few of the novels and reaching behind them he pulled out a green vial. Going over to the bed he reached under producing a dark case. Opening the case he began pulling out all he needed. A syringe, cleaning alcohol, and a transfer tube. After cleansing both his hands and the needle he attached the tube. He lifted the vial watching the green liquid drip through with rapt attention. When the vial was empty and he detached the tube, sealing the syringe he sat there.

The lichen would only hold off the fox for so long but it would give him time. Yet, time to what? He couldn't go to the pack or to Deaton. He couldn't go to anyone. Stiles had heard it for himself after all. The fox had said that when the others knew of their existence they were forced to speed up their plan. Forcing the bond or something along those lines.

So he would inject the Lichen and what, try to find a way to exercise them? They had tried before and it had not to work and that had been all of them working together. Now it was only Stiles. It’s not like he had a big supply of the lichen anyway. The small vials worth that was now sitting in his syringe was all he had. He couldn't steal any more from Deaton without the druid noticing. And no one could notice. People would get hurt again and Stiles would father off himself then let that happen.

Gritting his teeth he readied the needle. The fox was getting too strong and soon he would take over. Wait . . . too strong. Stiles’s arm fell, as he pondered the thought. Before they had taken over Stiles had seen allusions of them. He had heard them constantly and even felt phantom pain created all in the Nogitsune's image.

The most stiles had seen of him wasn't even sight at all. He had heard him first but only for a few seconds. From there on the fox had only spoken up twice a week at most and never more than a few words were uttered. That pattern had not changed either. 

If he couldn't see them and barely heard them then were they even that strong. Maybe they weren't even back. Maybe they would just die off, already dying and the last whips of their existence decided to annoy Stiles.

As soon as the flicker of hope emerged He crushed it with an iron fist.

What was he thinking?

Of course, it was back and the longer he stayed the more people would get hurt. The more people would die. Stiles had already killed his mother. Had already killed his father's deputies who used to watch him in the station as a child. And there were others, but he wouldn't let there be any more.

Throwing his arm up Stiles pushed the syringe into his neck, pressing down on the handle. Eyes clenched shut and freehand clenched in a fist he kept pushing until the cavity was empty. When it was finally empty he yanked the needle out gasping. It was oka. He did it and now he had time, he could-

That's when the pain hit. It was fire coiled in his heart, pushing out as it slithered through his veins. It was his veins being ripped lean out of his flesh. Freezing cold pelted his brain, as pressure so unfathomably intense threatened to pop his eyeballs. Bones cracked and shatter like glass being hit with a metal bat. He couldn't focus on a single sensation yet felt all of them tear ruthlessly through his being.  
He might have screamed. He might have fallen to the floor. All he knew for sure was that he smelt red and tasted tearing. Sweet seemed to let out the strangest of sounds as humid looked wrong.

Everything was black yet filled with color. Oranges and yellows tipped with blacks and browns. Glowing eyes and razor-sharp teeth. The strange collection of shapes tilted its head at him crawling towards the rocky mass that should be his hand. The moment the colors touched shouting fingers everything stopped. 

Stiles was thrown into shock as the echo of torture circulated in his mind. It might have been milliseconds or millennia but something snapped him to attention. He was . . . in a room? If it was a different day he might have looked around at the countless bookshelves and scriptures but it was not one of those days. Instead, his eyes trained themselves on the Nemition seated in the middle of the floor. Then past that a fox, a shadow? A being collapsed beyond it, spasming while blood leaked from invisible wounds. 

He didn't know how but the fox was dying. Almost dead, so close. He turned a feeling in his gut forcing him to look. Behind him, a door lay wide open but it wasn't the door to stiles mind. No. He knew it wasn't. If he were to go out that door he would find himself back in his room, lying at the base of his bed. He knew that, just as he knew the door had been open. The door where whoever passed through would be directed as the consciousness of Stiles Stilinski’s body. It had been open for weeks, months. 

It was open to control so easy to reach. But the fox had not gone through, hadn't possessed him even though they knew he would be given the chance. He didn't go because he didn't want to but because-  
“You can't leave,” he whispered, turning back to the being dying on the ground.  
And once again without reason, Stiles knew he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings  
> *needles*  
> *mentions of death*  
> *injury*
> 
> Haha I lied i'm doing a chaptered story. Anyway thanks for reading um i'm sorry that the first chapter was doodie but hopefully this one is better. Anyway comments, questions and suggestions are greatly appreciated and if you just want to talk teen wolf or Sterek don't be shy to ask!

**Author's Note:**

> !Trigger warnings!  
> Talk of suicide  
> talk of injury  
> talk of death
> 
> Okay um, hi Iffy here- I am going to try to make this work, I learned from my last fic that trying to make an entire story in one go would not work so i'm splitting this into chunks, Okay? - btw Erica Boyd and allison are alive because why not - Okay, thanks! If I get anything wrong or hey if you just want to talk teen wolf let me know!(I have no sterek or teen wolf buddies) Comments and recommendations are appreciated!


End file.
